September 1957

John and Connie despite two years being between them were like best friends and had been since they were young, and the two of them were really rather similar. Physically, they were both rather tall, both of their eyes were brown and both their noses were the same, whilst mentally they seemed to share a sharp, witty sense of humour and a rather short temper. John more so than Connie, and he was famed for being a troublemaker, not that Connie cared, considering he was still family. Whilst she was known to get into just as many fights as he did, she knew when to control said temper, which made the phone call John got one day at college rather a surprise.

The call had been from the headteacher at the Girl's School Connie went to, who said that Connie had been excluded for the rest of the week and needed someone to come meet her. He was actually quite surprised, though not that it was him who was called. Other than her dad, who was more often than not busy working long shifts at the fire department, John was Connie's last living relative and considering he was older than her, he was technically responsible for her, therefore making the call justified. No, what confused him was what in hell had she done to get excluded?

In his mind John knew she wasn't like him in the way that, yes she could throw a very good punch, but she also knew how to talk her way out of a fight if she had to, and school was one of the situations where she had to. What had she done to get excluded, but more importantly, what had someone said to her to get her angry enough to fight?

And so with that question on his mind John was waiting for her outside the school, a cigarette between his lips as he squinted through his sunglasses to watch her storm out of the school gates, which was rather a sight to behold. Her buttercup yellow hair had been tied off into a high ponytail on top of her head, her hair swinging from side to side as she walked angrily, her school jumper's sleeves were rolled up to her elbows and her tie askew, signalling she'd definitely been involved in a scrap, and her eyes were focused on the pavement in a scowl, an expression that deepened when she noticed him stood waiting for her.

"Where's your real glasses?" Connie questioned, not even meeting his eye as she carried on out of school, her satchel slung over her shoulder.

"Charming greeting, that is," John pointed out, following her down the street. "No 'thank you, Johnny dear for leaving college to come pick me up after I've been thrown out'? Typical,"

"Fuck off, not in the mood," She snarled, glaring at him, though her eyebrows turned down slightly when she noticed what he held between his fingers to his lips. "You got another cigarette?"

"Depends if you're gonna be nice to me," he shot her a look, though he sighed, offering her a small reassuring smile as he took the packet out of his inside pocket, handing her a cigarette and his lighter. She lit up, took a long drag, then threw his lighter back to him. "What've you done this time?"

"Wasn't my fault," she muttered darkly, blowing smoke out in front of her, holding back a cough. She was still new to smoking and it showed. "Got in a fight,"

"Who with?" He asked, sounding rather calm, and she knew it would be hypocritical of him if he had any other reaction, considering he got in plenty of fights himself.

"Dunno, just some bird called Jenny," Connie shrugged, and John could instantly tell that there was more to the story. "She was slagging me off, alright? Made fun of me for only hanging round lads, said Paul and George were weirdos and you were a troublemaker,"

"Well is she wrong there?" John laughed, pulling a face at her. She laughed quietly, though he could tell there was still something bothering her.

At that point the two of them had reached the bus stop, the schedule telling them that they still had a while to wait, which made Connie let out an annoyed grunt. As she sat down on the bench, John watched her carefully, noting that her eyes looked subtly puffy, as if she'd been crying. She rarely cried, so the sight of her red eyes told him that something much worse than a random girl insulting her friend's must have set her off.

"As much as I'd love to believe you got into a fight solely for our honour, and I'm flattered, there's more. Come on, Con, tell me," he sighed, flopping back onto the bench next to her, nudging her side with his elbow. She glared at him annoyedly, clenching her jaw slightly.

"I said you were better company than any floosy bird like her that'd happily throw herself at you all given the chance, then she said that I only like hanging round with lads cause I don't have a female influence and my mum would be disappointed to see who I was calling friends," Connie spoke slowly and bitterly, her hand shaking as she raised the cigarette back to her lips, taking a long drag before letting out a shuddered breath of smoke. "She kept saying stuff... about Mum, and, y'know, I just couldn't... Florence and Cilla had to pull me off her,"

John understood why she'd gotten into the fight as soon as the words had come out of Connie's mouth. She didn't often talk about her mother, who'd died only five years before, and people very rarely brought her up in conversation, especially Connie and her father who still seemed to be rather heartbroken over her loss. No one blamed them either, considering Connie's mother really was a wonderful woman, and even John missed her presence. It was quite sudden, and rather traumatic for her, so back when the loss was still fresh, Connie would get into a fight with anyone who mentioned her mother, even him once or twice. She was so fiercely protetive over her mother's memory. To have her mother brought up so jarringly, and in such a horrible context, to have her own mother used against her to insult her... John couldn't blame Connie for the fight at all. If anything, he was rather proud, not that he was going to tell her that.

"Thank god they did," John glared at the ground, clenching his jaw angrily. "If I was there I'd've murdered her,"

"I can fight my own battles," she snapped, but John knew she was only angry because she was on the verge of tears. "How... How fucking dare she say that my Mother would be disappointed in me? She..."

Connie took another long drag on her cigarette, before she stubbed it out on the bench, chucking the stub into the road angrily. She couldn't quite articulate to John exactly what she was feeling. She knew he'd faced his own grief in his time, what with his father leaving and him living away from his mother, but she knew nothing she could say would express to him the utter pain of losing her mother, not to mention having someone insult her using her mother's memory. The anger, the hurt, the sheer frustration of it all was bubbling up within her, to the point of her not knowing what to do. She got up, pacing around the bus stop in an attempt to calm down, to get a grasp on her emotions, but it was too late. She saw red, letting out a scream of despair, throwing her fist into the bus stop.

Watching her, John knew she just wanted to get her anger out and that she'd aimed to hit the metal pole, but instead she'd missed, her fist going straight through the glass panel covering the schedule. Connie froze, her eyes flicking between her left fist - bleeding with shards of glass stuck in her knuckles - and John, who was looking at her worriedly over his sunglasses.

"Feel better?" He asked sarcastically, trying not to let his concern show too much, especially as she threw herself back down onto the bench next to him. He glanced over to her knuckles, grimacing as he saw the blood, watching as she tried and failed to make a fist, her shaking fingers were attempting to pull the glass out. "That'll need stitches,"

"You weren't doing anything else today, were you?" Connie asked him, looking in his eyes with almost desperation, the corner of her mouth flicking up quickly into a sad smile.

***

Luckily for her, John didn't have anything else to do that day, except for sit with Connie in A-and-E waiting to be seen by a nurse.

They'd sat in a waiting area for about two hours until they were moved into a room, with a nurse briefly checking over her. Not that being moved into a room helped much, considering they were yet to be seen properly with Connie still needing stitches and probably an x-ray, meaning the two of them sat boredly in the small room in silence. Neither one of them knew what to say, so John had resorted to reading an old newspaper he'd found in the waiting room, whilst Connie had fished out a book from her school bag, propping it open with her good hand, her left one bandaged loosely to stop the bleeding.

"How's yours?" John spoke up, looking over the top of the newspaper to see Connie sat atop the hospital bench, her legs swinging boredly.

"Poker game's just gone to shit, Stanley's acting like a dick," Connie shrugged, holding up the book for him to see the title; 'A Streetcar Named Desire'. "Yours?"

"Nuclear disarmament riots down in London," John rolled his eyes.

"You win," she muttered, deciding his reading material was far more serious than hers.

"Con, your knuckles are bleeding onto your book, I think you win this one," he smirked slightly, though she shot him a glare.

That was when the door to their room opened and both of their heads snapped up to see the two newcomers; Paul and George. Both of them were still in their school uniform, their school bags slung over their shoulders, the two of them both wearing the same worried expression on their faces as they hesitated in the doorway, except Paul looked a little amused, whilst George seemed too serious to even consider finding the situation funny.

"What're you doing here?" She asked surprisedly, not expecting either of them to show up.

"John called school pretending to be me dad," Paul told her, nodding over to John, almost gratefully for getting him out of school. "Then George caught me on the way out and decided to come with,"

"Wow, I'm so glad you're using me breaking my knuckles and getting glass lodged in my fist as an excuse to bunk off," Connie glared over at Paul and George.

In reality, however, she was really glad to have both of them there. Of course John was fine company, but truthfully, she was terrified of hospitals, and the more people she had with her, the better. That was a fact John knew, and it was the reason why he'd snuck off to use the pay phone outside of the hospital to summon Connie's two best friends.

"What've you done, anyway, Lennie?" Paul asked with a small laugh, heading over to her, ruffling her hair gently, and when she pulled away, he smiled before going to lean against the wall over where John was sat, all whilst George quietly went to go and stand by her.

"A bus stop said something mean to her," John told him casually with a small shrug, his gaze not leaving the newspaper, and Connie was grateful that he left out all the other details since she felt rather foolish over the whole thing and didn't want anyone else to know about her outburst.

"Well, better a bus stop than a person, eh, Con?" Paul sighed, and though she knew he was trying to be ressuring, he really didn't know how close he'd hit to the truth.

"Yeah, well," John said, getting up from his seat, tossing the newspaper onto the bench next to Connie before getting up, hitting Paul's arm. "I'm going out for a smoke, come on, Paulie,"

Paul shot an appologetic look to Connie as John grabbed hold of his arm, pulling him out of the room, leaving Connie and George alone. With a small sigh, Connie closed her book, putting it aside as she moved over onto the bench slightly, gesturing over for George to come and sit next to her. As soon as she pulled himself up next to her, he glanced over at her hand, and although the loose bandaging hid most of the damage, he couldn't help but imagine how painful it was for her.

"Are you alright?" George asked her quietly, nudging her knee with his own gently.

"Could be worse," she muttered, staring at the floor before snorting out a laugh. "Actually, no, it's my writing hand so I don't know..."

"What happened?" he asked carefully, knowing that there was far more to the story than what she and John were telling him and Paul.

"Some bint got me angry at school, I got kicked out, and then I punched the bus stop," Connie explained, and George noticed her biting her lip, looking up to the ceiling to avoid meeting his eye. With a small sigh, he decided not to push the matter any further, offering her a small smile.

"It's alright, Con, you don't have to talk about it," he put his arm around her shoulder gently, which was when he noticed her shivering. "Are you sure you're alright? Con, you're shaking,"

"Yeah... Yeah, I'm fine, don't worry, Gee," she nodded, using a nickname to try and reasure him that she was fine, though she could see he didn't believe her. "I don't like hospitals, not since... Well, it's my own fault, so don't pity me,"

"I don't pity you!" George practically exclaimed, finding it funny that even with her anxiety, she was still bothered about him not feeling sorry for her.

Regardless of what she wanted, George shrugged his leather jacket off, draping it over her shoulders. She flashed him a thankful smile, feeling a little better knowing she had his support. George didn't know much about her anxiety surrounding hospitals, considering her mother had died long before she even met him, but he knew her well enough to tell when something was wrong, and he also knew her enough to not push the matter.

"Thanks, Geo," she smiled at him, glad for his company and support. "I'm really happy you're here,"

"S'Alright, you got me out of history, and you know that teacher's had a thing against me ever since my dad punched him," George smirked slightly. "How long've you been 'ere?"

"About... three hours maybe, can't be sure since I can't look at my watch," Connie told him with a small frown, gesturing to her left wrist, where her watch was covered over by a bandage. That was when her stomach let out a rather loud rumble, and the two of them looked at each othe before breaking down into laughter. "Sorry, I got kicked out just before lunch,"

"Well, lucky for you..." George started, before leaning over to his bag, rooting around inside until he pulled out a pristine foil package, handing it to her. "I never got round to eating this, and good for you, it's your favourite,"

"Cheese and pickle, you actual legend!" she gasped excitedly, beginning to unwrap the sandwich, though she looked up to him nervously. "Are you sure?"

George never shared food, not with anyone. It was rare he'd spare even something as small as a biscuit for someone, so for him to give her a whole sandwich was a pretty big gesture, and one that left her worrying that he was actually still feeling sorry for her. For once though, she decided not to let her pride get in the way and just accept the food. Maybe it was because she was so hungry and her hand was still in a lot of pain, but instead of protesting like she usually would, she flashed him a grin as she tore the sandwich in half, handing him one half whilst taking a bite out of the other.

"Thanks," she told him as soon as she'd finished, smiling at him again, letting out a long sigh before she rested her head against his shoulder, wrapping her arm through his, squeezing it tightly.

George tensed up a little, though not enough to make Connie notice. He'd not expected her to touch him like that, and he wasn't entirely sure why it made him tense like that. They'd been best friends for over two years at that point, and she often wrapped her arm through his, but in that moment he couldn't help but be taken aback slightly. He'd never really seen her that way before since she was always so fiery, and her strong nature was what he always admired about her, but seeing her almost vulnerable and in pain, it was like he was seeing a whole new side to her. It was a side he admired just as much.

***

Word count: 2901

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